


to live for it all

by hecckyeah



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I am so sorry, anyway, dousy, i cranked this out in like an hour because my writer's block fiNALLY left, it's so short, love love dousy and i will never stop writing about them, some angsty fluff i guess, talking about death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26188057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hecckyeah/pseuds/hecckyeah
Summary: ~ “Are you sure you’re alright?” Daniel’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts and grounded her again. Just like so many times before. Hundreds, probably, if she counted all the time loops.She glanced up again, meeting his eyes.How could he do it? ~(a snippet of a scene right after 7x13, before “one year later." Daisy contemplates life and death and the people that make it all worth it.)
Relationships: Skye | Daisy Johnson/Daniel Sousa
Comments: 14
Kudos: 164





	to live for it all

-

-

She never thought this was how it would feel to die.

Granted, she almost died once. Twice . . . Or was it three times? She’d had so many near-death experiences; it was hard to keep track anymore. 

This should have been no different.

She knew what she was walking into. Malick was powerful, that was no question. He had, like he said, had his powers for longer, and his powers were driven by pure hatred and greed. 

But Daisy had something even more powerful.

Fitz had told everyone the plan. Daisy knew what they were hiding, but more importantly . . . what they were fighting for. If one detail failed, if one single movement went the wrong way, Fitzsimmons might never have seen their daughter again. Daisy knew that. 

So she threw herself into the fight, with no regard for herself, just doing exactly what needed to be done. 

Those words Sousa had said in the time loop echoed around her head. “Focused on the greater good, even at your own expense.”

She couldn’t help it. 

Her best friends had a daughter they were fighting to return to—to keep safe. And Daisy was damn well going to make sure that happened. 

No matter what.

-

She woke to heat.

Blazing heat that started at her neck and forced her lungs to expand. It shot down into her fingers, then her feet, then set her whole body on fire, like she’d jumped into a hot pool in the scorching summer.

She glanced around . . . wasn’t she dead? She was supposed to be dead. Was this what death felt like—hot and sudden and blazing? 

Kora.

Kora was there, and she was smiling.

Daisy blinked. Looked up.

“This is what we were fighting for.”

Coulson’s words rang through her mind. Her sister had saved her life. And Malick was dead. She had done it—she had followed the plan, everything had gone right, and that meant . . .

“Family,” she answered. 

-

It was easier to recover from dying than Daisy had thought.

“Trust me, you do it once or twice and it’s a piece of cake,” Coulson had reassured her.

She side-eyed him from the cot where she lay. “Thanks . . .”

It wasn’t that far of a flight back to Earth, but Daisy swore the Zephyr had never moved so slowly. 

Her head buzzed, and her fingers tingled.

May had given her strict orders (on penalty of another death) to stay on the cot until Jemma boarded and set up the healing chamber. Even if they had to wheel Daisy around until then.

She hadn’t argued. She wasn’t even sure if she could have stood up if she tried. 

The Zephyr finally came to a halt. 

There were no windows, but it stopped shaking and she vaguely heard the sound of feet clattering up (or down) the cargo bay ramp. Someone laughed, and there was a new, higher-pitched, unfamiliar voice among them. 

Daisy’s breath caught in her throat.

But before she could entirely re-process the existence of the newest, smallest member of the Fitzsimmons family, a very familiar, very welcome, very concerned-looking figure appeared at the doorway.

Every other thought was pushed to the back of her mind, and she smiled, pushing herself up to her elbows. 

“Hey,” she said quietly.

The grin that lit up Daniel Sousa’s face could have powered the Zephyr for years. 

“Daisy,” he answered, and wasted no time rushing forward and pulling her into a careful, exceedingly gentle-yet-relieved hug. “Thank God.”

When he let go, Daisy slid her hands down to take hold of his. Her smile wouldn’t leave her face. 

“What happened up there?” he asked, eyebrows drawing together. He leaned himself carefully on the edge of the cot to face her. “The plan . . . the plan worked?”

“It worked.” She nodded and sat upright, crossing her legs underneath her. She didn’t let go of his hands. “Thanks to Kora.”

“I guess I really should thank her,” Sousa said. “If it weren’t for her, you’d be--” he paused and took a breath, his eyes meeting hers with all the emotion in the world. 

Daisy squeezed his hands. She knew what he was going to say.

If not for Kora, she would be completely frozen, ashen gray and already having her funeral planned. 

The smile faded from her lips. 

Fitz’s plan could have gone so many different directions. Every moving piece had to go off without a hitch, and he was risking  _ everyone’s _ lives to pull it together. Her stomach sank. This hadn’t been the first time they’d been trying to beat the odds—cheat fate. And it probably wouldn’t be the last, for most of them. 

And for what?

The world spun around her. 

For family, she remembered. But . . . was that selfish? Was it unreasonable? Was that enough to risk—

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Daniel’s voice pulled her out of her thoughts and grounded her again. Just like so many times. Hundreds, probably, if she counted all the time loops.

She glanced up again, meeting his eyes. 

How could he do it?

He looked so worn. His shirt was rumpled around the collar, a streak of dirt lined his cheekbone, and dark circles were beginning to form under his eyes. And yet, here he was, asking about her well-being. Just like every time loop, without fail, waking up from that hard, stiff chair, his head pillowed on a cardboard box, his concern for her never lessening.

“I’m okay.” She glanced down at her hands. She had removed the gauntlets, and just the simple feeling of his thumbs running across her knuckles was enough to cause all the stress and worry of the last few weeks (years, actually) drain right out of her. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

He smiled.

And when he kissed her (slowly, sweetly), she forgot what it felt like to die. 

She only knew what it could feel like . . . to truly live.

-


End file.
